


25/9/16

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking, Drug Use, F/F, Gen, Mumblecore, Over Dose, Silly, Weird, by the seat of my pants, no real plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 07:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8135641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A loose story featuring Meenah and Damara.





	

It's dark outside, her cheap-ass apartment room is full of vodka bottles and grocery store chocolate and discarded red and pink clothes and undergarments and the party happening downstairs is still going on full blast.

The television is on in the background. Meenah made Mituna have it so that the TV can play VHS tapes on repeat. Currently, The Little Mermaid is playing in the background, illuminating the room along with the mostly broken light bulb that flashes on briefly sometimes before resuming being broken.

Meenah is lying flat on her back as Damara lays across her stomach like a limp ragdoll, her hair splayed everywhere and white foamy spit at the edges of her mouth. There is a thick strand of white drool clinging to Meenah's lip. Both of their eyes are glassy, staring skyward. Their skin is damp with spilled alcohol, sweat and their own spittle.

Meenah's head twitches and lolls around as if she's about to say something, raising an accompanying finger in the air. She ends up coughing and spluttering for a good minute and goes back to her vegetable state. 

Damara watches a bug crawl across the wall. It's not a bug so much as it was a cockroach. She watches with the fascination only someone who is incredibly drunk and high could, as it skeeters up the wall, until it tips off a hanging picture frame of Meenah's mother Meenah accidentally broke last week, where the insect's nudge was enough to cause the frame fall off and impale the insect. She goes to say something about it, but her throat burns too much.

"It's hot." She says as if she made a keen observation..

Meenah doesn't say anything. She's still staring at the ceiling, where a poster of Diana Ross belonging to her mother was stuck. It was sun-damaged and torn at the corner.

"Meenah?"

No response.

"Meenah? Your Photo broke. It's broken." Damara cranes her neck to look at the other girl.

It's a slow process, but Meenah's head lifts up from it's resting place, though with great difficulty. "Did you say something?"

"Your Photo. Broken."

"Y-yer English's broken." Meenah observed, apparently having a brief stint of awareness.

"Shut your face." Damara crawled off Meenah, getting to her feet. She could feel the revolting sensation when sweat-drenched skin peeled off sweat drenched skin. She almost threw up at the sound.

"Oh god, don't throw up. This room is in shitty enough condition, and I don't wanna have to clean up vomit. C'mere."

Damara retreats back to the bed, though this time facing side by side with her. Their faces are close enough that she can see the many little details that make up Meenah's face. Her heart-shaped face. Her over-pronounced canine teeth, her tacky fuschia lipstick and eyeliner (tacky make-up was something that apparently ran in their family, Damara thought) and her many piercings and neck tattoos.

"Whatchu starin at?" Meenah whispered. Her voice incredibly gravelly.

"Why do you have so many piercings?"

"They're cool," she easily replies, "I think the question is, why dafuq don't you got any?"

Damara made an "I-dont-know" noise and scooted closer. It wasn't like her mother would care if she got piercings. Her mother was one of those people who grew up in slavery. She heard many stories involving some bald white guy in a suit, none of them pleasant. That's probably why, Damara often thought, is why her mother let her do whatever she wanted.

"Maybe I should. You help?"

They both giggle in a nasty, gravelly, slurred tone of voice, Meenah's giggle being drawn out and bordering on a cackle, while Damara's sounded more akin to an actual giggle.

Next thing they know, they hear shouting coming from down stairs, glass breaking, screams and the sounds of wood being broken against a hard surface. Meenah throws a nearby bottle on the ground. 

"Oi, shut the fuck up. Assholes. Glad we left that fucking place. Fuckin noisy..."

"Yes."

It's not until the morning they wake up that they find out that the party was raided by the police, and several people, including some of their friends, were taken into the local station.

\- - -

Damara wakes up to a heavy hangover, several kiss-stains of pink on her shoulders and neck and Meenah Piexes in full hysterics on the floor.

She looked like she was channeling unholy forces, covered in tattoes and her own now blood-infused spittle, making her look like she's vomiting pepto-bismol and blood chunks.

Damara screams so loudly she nearly starts puking up herself. She knocks up pillows and tosses around blankets until she finds her phone.

\- - -

Meenah is sitting upright in a hospital bed surrounded by light-aloe-green curtains and earth-grey walls. There's a monitor next to her, and some wire attatched to her wrist. 

She feels like shit.

\- - - 

"Is she going to wake?" Damara asks. Beside her is the few of Meenah and Damara's mutual friends who weren't arrested and still being held in police captivity, or, Porrim, Vriska and Tauros.

The nurse frowns. "Well-"

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?"

"...Yes."

\- - - 

One week later, and Meenah is beating the everloving shit out of Gamzee with his own beer bottle, with Damara holding back his arms.

"You." Slam. "Said". clunk. "Those drugs." Smack. "Were. Bam. "Clean!" Smash.

\- - -

Damara, Meenah and a bleeding and slightly scarred but still mellow and agreeable Gamzee sit around his apartment, each one holding at can of cider in their hand.

"What the fuck are we watching?" Meenah asks.

"Fuck if I motherfucking know. Red's got the remote."

Meenah stares intently at the show. It's either a show about wedding dresses or a whale documentary. 

\- - - 

"Hey. What if we got, like married?" Meenah asks her as Karkat drives them back to her apartment. His car is fairly clean, aside from the odd Smuppet crammed between seats and other crevices.

Damara laughs.

"Who would be the groom?"

"Fuck if I know. We'd both be grooms. Or unless you wanted a gress. It's cool, either way."

"I want a dress, but only if you buy it."

"Aight, deal."

"Deal." 

The car stops.

"Here you assholes go. Meenah, you owe me. Now get out of the car and please don't either end up in the E.R. or send any of my or your friends there."

\- - - 

Damara woke up the next morning in relatively good condition for her. Only mildly hungover.

The first sight she sees is Meenah caught in the middle of placing a small black box on her pillow and a note.

"Fuck."

\- - -

**Author's Note:**

> One of hopefully many stories about nothing.


End file.
